


Only Great Warriors

by UselessReptileWrites



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Animal Death, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, alcohol mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-28 16:16:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15053051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UselessReptileWrites/pseuds/UselessReptileWrites
Summary: According to the legend of the Signposts of Valhalla, great Viking warriors receive five signs before their death.





	1. The Flying Fish

**Author's Note:**

> In the Defenders of Berk episode "The Flight Stuff," Astrid and Snotlout discuss a legend about signs great Viking warriors received before their deaths. The result was inevitable.

While getting up at the crack of dawn was part of the duty of a chief he’d personally like to see gone, Stoick couldn’t deny the sight was beautiful. 

It was the time of morning where only part of the sky lit in beautiful shades of pink and orange. A light fog covered the ocean like a particularly fluffy blanket, if the said blanket had been chilled on ice rather than heated next to a fire.

 _Shame you have to rise early to see it,_  Stoick said, stifling a yawn.

Still, a village waited for no one to have its problems, and so Stoick was out on early morning patrol, ambling up and down the paths of Berk, eyes peeled for any problems.

Said problems probably took the form of two blond-haired twins and a two-headed dragon. It was in this form that Stoick was most familiar with trouble, at least in later years. It was like a troublemaking spirit had tired of inspiring Hiccup’s attempts at helping and had found its home in the Thorston twins.

Stoick had to wonder if the twins had always been troublemakers but a dragon and freedom from the fire brigade had exacerbated it, or if having a dragon that could create explosions at will sparked their interest in destruction.

 _If only my boy could inspire some responsibility in those two,_  he thought, shaking his head. He couldn’t help but feel a spark of pride in his son. Despite everything, he’d managed to make the village a better place and stop a centuries long war with the dragons and bring peace between Outcasts and Hooligans, and he wasn’t even chief yet.

 _Imagine what he’ll be like as a chief,_  Stoick thought. He paused, and seriously began contemplating it.

Stoick loved his job, he really did in spite of the headaches that came with it even on the best days. He loved strolling around his village (or, in these days, fly above it on his dragon) and taking in its sights and sounds, knowing that at least for that moment everything was safe, and everyone was happy. Hiccup had that same spark to help people; years of failed dragon-fighting inventions attested to that. And while Stoick wouldn’t ever seriously hate his job, at least not for long, he was getting old. His joints creaked when he spent too long on his feet, which was almost daily.

Truth be told, Hiccup could’ve taken the helm back when he was eighteen. He’d grown up from a boy who meant well, but didn’t always do well to a responsible young man, well-respected and beloved by all of Berk.

Partially because he was one of the few who could handle both Snotlout and the Thorston twins at the same time.

However, Stoick knew his son. He knew how he loved to travel, to wander the hills and explore and learn. Stoick had been much the same when he was a young lad. He’d been constrained to the island, of course; a lack of biddable dragons and an early start to his role as chief had put an end to the thought of exploring off the island before it had a chance to begin. But if that hadn’t been an issue… Well, he’d be out there every day.

So he’d let Hiccup have his years of freedom. But he was getting old now, and what if something happened to him? While Berk was at peace, Viking life could still be harsh. One bad winter, a particularly bad outbreak, something so simple as a dragon riding accident could leave Hiccup woefully unprepared without any notice. His leniency on Hiccup would soon become careless rather than generous.

 _Better he take on the mantle now when I can step in if he needs it than all of a sudden, when he doesn’t have a clue,_ Stoick told himself as he strode down the docks of Berk’s harbor.

Stoick had been so busy contemplating this that he didn’t realize who else was on the docks until something hit him in his chest. Or, rather, his beard which covered it.

He paused and glanced down at what had hit him. A round, glassy eye stared back.

A fish?

He glanced up and saw a Zippleback flying away. He didn’t need to see the two lanky figures on each neck to know whose it was; he’d been around his son’s friends long enough to recognize the distinctive patterns of Tuffnut and Ruffnut Thorston’s dragon.

Stoick sighed and shook his head as the dragon receded into the distance. He knew a lost cause when he saw one.

 _I wish those two had stayed on Dragon’s Edge,_  he thought, picking up the fish.  _That way they wouldn’t be my problem anymore._

The thought of them not being his problem anymore again almost put a spring in his step.

“Sorry about them, Chief,” Mulch said as Stoick showed him the fish with a raised eyebrow and nothing else. “We told them to give you a fish for your breakfast, not throw it at you.”

“Why would you ask the twins to deliver this fish?” Stoick asked. There was an old game he and his friends used to play when they were kids called corrupt a wish. Basically, whatever you wished for came true in the worst possible way. Asking the twins do something was like playing that with them, except with real-life consequences.

Mulch scratched his hair, looking apologetic. “Well, we caught them causing trouble around here yesterday and had them give us a hand today to make up for it.” He sighed, the gray hairs in his beard twitching.

“But they’re causing more trouble than it’s worth?” Stoick asked, filling in the blanks. While Mulch was not the youngest Viking in Berk, his face sure did look more worn and creased at the moment. Being around the twins aged a person. Just look at him.

“Yeah.” Mulch shrugged.

“I could revoke their dragon racing privileges,” Stoick said. Those two loved their dragon races, probably due to the general chaos and low number of rules. Maybe that would keep them in check, at least for a little bit.

Or free up more time for them to cause more disruptions.

Mulch immediately shook his head. “Nah, chief, no need for you to get involved. We’ll work something else out.”

Stoick wasn’t sure if Mulch was actually sincere in saving him the bother, or trying to keep the twins in the game. He was the announcer, after all, and the twins’ antics always made good commentating.

Instead of confronting him on this, Stoick sighed and said, “See that you do.” He gave Mulch a stern glare and meandered back to his house. His son would be waking up soon, he realized as he eyed the horizon. Stoick had something he wanted to discuss with him.


	2. The Weeping Rock

In some ways, Stoick thought as he descended the stairs down from his throne at the dragon racing arena, his father had been lucky with never getting old. He never had to deal with stiff knees.

Gobber walked down behind him, one steady footstep followed by the clunk of his wooden leg.

“So I noticed Hiccup wasn’t in the race today,” Gobber said, sounding casual. Stoick knew that was feigned. Gobber was never casual. Not in his love of forging, not in his love of terrorizing his students, not in his love of insisting trolls were real and not some kids’ story.

“You’re as observant as ever, Gobber.” The blacksmith did have the tendency to point out the obvious, ever since the two had met.

“So did you give him the big talk, then?” Gobber asked.

“If we’re talking about the whole ‘you’re going to be chief,’ one, then yes.” Stoick felt his good mood at witnessing Astrid win the game dissipate like snow in the sun.

Gobber chuckled. Stoick didn’t need to look behind him to realize that he was probably shaking his head fondly. “I take it that didn’t go well.”

Stoick nodded. “By the time I turned around he was gone.” He stepped onto solid ground and turned to face Gobber, who picked his way down next to him.

“You know, you would think that being the head of Dragon’s Edge would’ve built him up to the idea of being a chief one day.” Gobber adjusted his helmet, the visor in front threatening to fall forward in front of his face.

“That’s what I was thinking.” That had been part of the reason he’d let Hiccup and his friends set up that outpost. Being the ringleader of his group of friends in the village was one thing, but alone in uncharted territory was another. He’d hoped the boy would learn to appreciate the taste of chiefing while he was out there, but apparently he hadn’t.

“So, what’s your plan?” Gobber asked.

“I’m going to try again.” Hiccup would have to face this one day. It wasn’t like he had any siblings to shift the work to. The next in line would be Snotlout, but he wasn’t sure who’d hate the idea more, Hiccup or the entire village.

“Ah, the old Viking fallback,” Gobber said, sounding like he’d expected it. “If it doesn’t work, try again.”

Stoick sensed a veiled sarcastic comment beneath the blacksmith’s tone.

“Didn’t Bork always say, ‘If you fail, get right back on the dragon?’”

Gobber nodded proudly. “Aye, that he did.”

“I probably scared him, coming on with that plan too strongly,” Stoick said. He hadn’t exactly warned Hiccup that this was going to happen. He should’ve mentioned wanting to retire soon, mention giving the boy more official training, something. “He just needs time to warm up to the idea.”

“That’s true,” Gobber said, “but how long will it take?”

Stoick groaned. “Hopefully before I keel over of old age.”

Gobber chuckled. It wasn’t quite so hearty as his laughs usually were.

“So, you ready for retirement already?” Gobber asked. He began to amble away from the stadium. They kept away from the crowds leaving the stands, but that was easy enough. They’d given the audience some time to clear out, and quite a few had left on dragons rather than walking.

“You know it, Gobber,” he said, thoughts wandering into a sunnier place. “I was meaning to work on my whittling.” He got so few chances to do it nowadays, between Not-So-Silent-Anymore Sven and the twins’ return.

“And no more early hours,” Gobber said. “If it hadn’t been for the fact that you’re taking my apprentice, I’d probably be handing over my forge to fresh blood!”

“Better hurry up finding another apprentice, then.” He knew that Gobber would have a hard time. While Hiccup was out on the Edge, Gobber was always muttering about needing a hand, but how none of the prospective replacements ever lived up to Hiccup’s skill.

“These things can’t be rushed, Stoick.”

Before Stoick could make his reply, a sharp pain in his toes drew him up short. He winced and glared down at the offending object that dared get in his way.

It was a rock, about the size of his fist.

“You okay there, Stoick?” Gobber asked, glancing back at him.

“Fine,” Stoick said, and glared at the rock. “Just stubbed my toe.” He paused. The rock was dark and shimmered slightly in the light. “Didn’t know it rained last night.”

Gobber shook his head. “It didn’t. Last night was clear as a freshly-cleaned room.”

“Then how’d this rock get wet?” He prodded the rock with his boot, flipping it over. Its underside, too, was wet.

Gobber shrugged. “Eh, it was probably Fishlegs. I always see that boy carrying rocks to his beast every morning. Probably picked it out of a river and dropped it on his way over.”

That seemed reasonable enough.

“You know,” Gobber said as Stoick began walking again, “Hiccup has a shift in the forge today.”

“I know.” He’d lived long enough with the boy to know when he left for the forge.

“And he’ll probably try avoiding you when he gets back from Thor-knows-where.”

Stoick frowned. He probably would. That boy always tried to weasel out of any topic that made him uncomfortable. “Aye, that he will.”

“When was the last time he saw you visit the forge?”

Stoick smiled. “I like the way you think, Gobber.”


	3. The Singing Trees

“Stoick, I want to find the lad as much as you do, but we need to land.”

Stoick glared over at Gobber. The man was peering over at him with concern, accentuated by the frost forming on his eyebrows. Stoick could feel it growing on his beard as well.

“Hiccup is in trouble.” Stoick knew that fact as sure as he knew his own name. Hiccup was too careful of his belongings to just drop his helmet into the ocean and leave it there without there being a great big reason why.

Stoick just hoped that great big reason wasn’t a stranger with a dragonskin cloak.

Gobber nodded. “Aye, but if we go riding in to his rescue on exhausted dragons, so will we.”

Stoick glanced down at Skullcrusher. His dragon was still flying fast on the trail of Hiccup’s scent, puffs of vapor rising like smoke from his nostrils. However, the dragon’s mouth was open in a pant. If they needed to fight, Skullcrusher wouldn’t be at his full strength.

“Fine,” he spat out. “Next sea stack we see, we’re taking a break.”

The next bit of land they saw wasn’t a sea stack, but a small island. It held barely more than a pool of water and a few trees, but it was land, and uninhabited. It’d do.

Skullcrusher landed next to the water pool with a grunt, a little rougher than normal. Grump all but fell out of the sky next to him, eyes half-opening from the jolt. Gobber slid off his back and gave his dragon a rough pat on his side. The Hotburple closed his eyes, and seconds later started to breathe heavily, not quite snoring but on the verge of it.

“Take a break, Skullcrusher,” Stoick said as he noticed his dragon staring at him with small yellow eyes that seemed confused. “You’ve earned it.”

Skullcrusher snorted and trudged to the water. Stoick hadn’t expected it to be freshwater, but Skullcrusher was lapping it up, so it had to be.

“Relax, Stoick,” Gobber said, sounding tense. “It’s possible we’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion.” He shrugged. “For all we know, he tested out those darn wings of his again and dropped his helmet without noticing. We could catch up to him and he’d have no idea why we were so worried.”

That was true. The reason he was so panicked was because the boy was going after Drago. The man had all but vanished from Midgard since that fateful meeting, so what were the chances of Hiccup finding him?

The chances of Hiccup finding Hamish’s treasure hadn’t been that high, either, and Hiccup was like a lodestone for danger and trouble.

“The sooner we find him, the better.” And then he and Hiccup could have a nice chat about being responsible for his own safety, and his dragon’s.

Gobber nodded.

The wind began to pick up, and Stoick definitely didn’t pull his cloak closer to him. He’d ridden out in colder storms, for Thor’s sake. A little breeze couldn’t make him shiver.

The trees, however, were a different story.

This far north, the whole land was covered in snow and ice. It was therefore no surprise that the branches of said tree were encapsulated in ice, shimmering in the light of day. It was almost like a giant had dipped it into glass. That meant, instead of hearing the trees whisper from leaves brushing up against each other, there was a soft chiming. Trader Johann, before he turned rogue, had used to sell these things of strung up metal that clattered against each other in the wind and rang together with a sound that wasn’t altogether unpleasant. This was quite similar.

“Quite a sound, huh, Stoick?” Gobber said. He was probably trying to keep his mind off his missing son.

Stoick nodded, briefly. He glanced over at his dragon, who grunted. He looked quite refreshed. When he checked Grump, the dragon was sleeping. Not quite a surprise; he’d known that dragon to sleep while flying.

Time to go, then.

“We should head out.” They had to find his son before Drago did.

Gobber nodded and climbed aboard Grump. “Get up, you big lump,” he said, nudging his dragon’s sides. “We don’t have all day. I’ve students more diligent than you.”

Finally, without Grump actually opening his eyes, the dragon lifted off, followed by Skullcrusher. They left the trees behind, and the sound of howling wind swallowed up the chiming.

“Shame your son isn’t into botany instead,” Gobber said casually, a feat when yelling to be heard over the wind. “He couldn’t get into as much trouble collecting plants as this.”

Stoick groaned. “I’m sure he’d find a way.” If anyone could find danger in studying plants, it’d be Hiccup. But maybe at least he’d be able to pretend that Hiccup wouldn’t get into trouble, at least for a while, if he had been into studying plants than being Berk’s unofficial ambassador.


	4. The Bird of Death

****The “island,” for lack of a better word, had almost blended in with the rest of the icebergs. Stoick might not have spotted it if Skullcrusher hadn’t been flying straight toward it.

“By Odin’s beard!” Gobber sounded both afraid and in awe. “I’ve never seen anything like it! Have you?”

Stoick shook his head. “No, I haven’t.” He kicked Skullcrusher’s sides a little more forcefully than needed. Thankfully, his dragon didn’t seem to mind and picked up the pace.

As they grew closer, the island became easier to see. Rather than a solid, if jagged, iceberg, this was practically a pinecone made from ice. Giant frozen bristles poked out like quills on a porcupine.

If this was a defense, Stoick didn’t care to find out what it was supposed to be a defense against.

“If this is where Drago’s been hiding, then no wonder no one saw him for all these years.” Stoick almost lost the whistle among the howling wind.

“We’re here to rescue Hiccup from him, not praise him.” Stoick placed a hand on his axe, ready to fight at any moment.

“I know, chief,” Gobber said. He was scanning the ice spikes warily. “Is it just me, though, or is he a little light on the security.”

“They could be here at any moment.” Stoick took deep breaths, not bothering to try and breathe silently. If Drago’s guards were hiding, they would hear the wingbeats before his breath. No point limiting his air to try and hide.

Skullcrusher circled the island in a slow, wide loop, keeping distance between them and it. Grump trailed behind, his noisier, faster wingbeats a steady but comforting drone. Stoick prepared to see clouds of dragons rising out of the structure, fire and talons ready.

But nothing happened.

“If he has guards, then they’re really good at hiding.” Stoick glanced behind him, seeing that Gobber had taken one of Hiccup’s spyglasses out of a saddlebag and was squinting at the ice fortress.

“Or waiting for us to get closer.” Too close for them to flee, or strike.

Still, it seemed like Skullcrusher was insistent that Hiccup was somewhere in there, and hopefully Toothless was, as well. They’d have to chance it sometime.

Skullcrusher led the way toward a small entrance. It’d be harder for dragons to fight, but less enemies could attack them at a time. Skullcrusher was good at ramming enemies on the ground, if it became necessary.

As they approached, Stoick readied his axe to cut into any number of attackers.

Nothing. No one came.

Stoick became only more wary. It’d be dangerous to assume Drago was overconfident. Best to prepare for an ambush that didn’t happen than blunder right into it.

Skullcrusher glided into the entrance and landed, the heavy thud echoing through the tunnel. Stoick braced himself. Memories of dragons clinging to the walls of a dark cavern, briefly lit by a fireball before being claimed once more by shadow, came to mind.

This place was empty.

The much more solid thud of Grump landing shook a few pieces of ice from the ceiling, but nothing came to the sound.

 _I don’t trust this,_  Stoick said. But what choice did he have? If they went back for reinforcements, then it might be too late by the time they were all ready for an official siege. The best they could do was hurry to find Hiccup before Drago and his dragons caught up to them.

Stoick dismounted and signaled for Skullcrusher to take the lead. The dragon could take fire better than he could, and could ram aside obstacles both in the form of walls of ice and enemies. Plus, he had Hiccup’s scent, and therefore a better knowledge of where to go than anyone else.

Gobber got off Grump and walked over them, careful not to slip on the ice. The Hotburple, seemingly awake and at least partially alert for once, took the rear.

Stoick felt his senses sharpen, ready to detect any form of funny business. The tunnels gave off an omnipresent chill, and the deeper they got, the stronger the sharp smell of sulfur, smoke, and rotting fish got.

 _Here be dragons,_  he thought. And where there were dragons, Hiccup wasn’t far behind.

Still, but for the shuffling of his, Gobber’s, and their dragons’ feet and their breaths, there were no signs of the beasts, nor their master.

 _This could just be a wild dragon’s nest,_  he thought. He’d assumed Hiccup had had enough common sense, after the Red Death, to avoid waltzing into an unknown nest like he and his dragon were invincible, but this was the man who’d heard his story about Drago and decided the man was able to be spared.

 _But even if this is some random nest and not Drago’s hideout, where are the dragons?_  It seemed awfully fishy there wasn’t one to be found.

The stench of blood grew stronger, and finally the first sign of dragons appeared, left abandoned on the middle of the floor.

It’d been a vulture at one point, but it looked like some smaller dragons, about the size of Smothering Smokebreaths, had been tucking into it. However, there were no dragons around, unless they could go invisible like Changewings. Half the bird was still there, the rest was scattered as bones and feathers. And a dragon would not leave their kill half-eaten for no reason.

 _They’re running from us,_  he thought, tightening his grip on his weapon.  _But is it because they’re afraid of us, or to report to their master?_

He couldn’t afford to assume the former, so he prepared for the latter.

“We pick up the pace,” he said, and Gobber made no comment, just followed Stoick as they hurried away from the kill.

The tunnels branched many times, but there were no sign of dragons besides claw marks and the smell. As they progressed deeper into the nest, the caves gradually turned from just ice to a mixture of ice and rock, and finally just plain stone, the toothmarks of Whispering Deaths barely visible from being worn away over time.

A pale light revealed they were coming to the end of the tunnel out into light. Stoick braced himself for anything.

He didn’t brace himself hard enough.

He bit back the exclamation he wanted to shout as he saw the form lying below the ledge the tunnel opened out over. It had to be larger than the Red Death by thrice over. It could take out his village by accident by a sweep of giant tusks that swept from its currently-prone body.

But Skullcrusher wasn’t interested in this. He was walking further down the ledge, nose pressed to the moss growing upon the stone.

Stoick turned and gestured for Gobber to be extra silent before following, keeping close to the walls in hopes of concealing himself. Beyond a quick intake of breath when the blacksmith spotted whatever that thing was, he did as he was told.

Thankfully, Skullcrusher quickly ducked down another tunnel, and the giant monster was left behind.

“What was that thing?” Gobber hissed.

Stoick could only shrug. “Let’s just get Hiccup and get out of here.”

“I’m not going to argue with you there,” Gobber said.

Skullcrusher drew to a halt and growled. Stoick peered around him and groaned. Ahead, the tunnel narrowed too much for either dragon to crawl through. Just him and Gobber would barely be able to squeeze through it.

“Skullcrusher, Grump, you go find another way around,” Stoick said. The two would probably be safer moving around alone; dragons in a dragon nest didn’t stand out that much. “We’ll grab Hiccup and Toothless and catch up.”

_Hopefully._

Skullcrusher rumbled unhappily, but stepped to the side to let Stoick through. Gobber sighed when he saw the gap, but didn’t protest.

Stoick slid through the gap, glancing around for any danger, and signaled for Gobber to crawl through as well. The moment he was, he heard heavy steps walk away. Skullcrusher and Grump were leaving. They were on their own.


	5. The Shepherd's Curse

****Stoick had thought he’d seen the unbelievable after spotting that giant dragon in the heart of the nest, but he’d been proven wrong minutes after.

Valka was  _alive._

Stoick trailed along after the group, behind even Grump, as Valka gave them a brief tour of the place that was her sanctuary for twenty years. He was in a daze, both from the revelation and all this time without a wink of sleep. The only thing keeping him going was pure adrenaline.

“And this,” Valka said, leading the way down a ramp narrow enough the dragons had to glide down to where they were headed, “is the farm.”

“Farm?” both Gobber and Hiccup asked. Gobber sounded somewhat incredulous, while Hiccup sounded excited. The boy was having the time of his life, trotting beside his mother like an overexcited puppy.

Valka nodded and laughed. “Not all our dragons eat fish, you know.”

Now that Grump was no longer in the way, Stoick could get a better view of where they were going. It was a long, flattish area of land, speckled by the occasional yak, or chicken, or sheep.

“Sheep?” Hiccup was practically bouncing in place. Toothless looked just as energetic. “Didn’t know dragons liked them.”

Valka shook her head, that long braid she’d grown out over the decades swaying gently. “No, you’re right. Too much wool.”

“Can’t say I blame ‘em,” Gobber added.

Stoick should’ve been joining in the discussion, but he felt frozen, a spectator in this happy reunion.

“Where’d you get them?” Hiccup asked, spinning around slowly to take the scene in.

Valka shrugged. “I didn’t. The dragons had this in place before I came here.” She nodded at the nearest sheep, slowly chewing on a scrap of grass, unbothered by both humans and dragons nearing it. “Well, besides them. But I only had the dragons take in those that’d wandered away from the herd or been abandoned.”

Stoick blinked at the pasture, lit at a pleasant light from the sun’s rays filtered through the walls and ceiling of ice. The smell of animal was at once comforting in its familiarity and boggling at its seeming unlikelihood.

“But why did you need sheep?” Hiccup asked, squinting at them.

Gobber chuckled. “Who doesn’t need a reason to keep them?” He shook his head like Hiccup had asked a really obvious question. Probably thinking of Phil.

“Dragons may hate eating them,” she said, gesturing at them with her staff, “but their wool makes pleasant bedding, and I make sweaters for dragons that need extra warmth in winter.”

Stoick nodded. “Must get cold up here,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse. He gestured at a nearby piece of ice.

Valka nodded, seeming a little hesitant. She was probably doing some adjusting of her own.

“Yeah,” she said. “But dragons are pleasant company in the cold.”

That dragon of hers–Cloudjumper, she’d called him–rumbled in agreement. He was watching over the group attentively, like a nanny with their young charges. Toothless alternated between trotting at Hiccup’s side and bouncing around the larger dragon.

“Unless they try to crawl into your bed and steal your blanket,” Gobber added, sounding like he was speaking from personal experience. Judging by how he was eyeing Grump, he probably was.

Stoick let himself slow down and take everything in. Cloudjumper glanced at him, and for a moment Stoick prepared himself to be pushed after the group. But the Stormcutter snorted and picked up his pace. Obviously the dragon had enough trust in him to allow him to wander alone, at least within a close proximity, in the Nest he’d seemed to have at least some responsibility over.

Stoick gazed once more at the field. Now he was looking more closely, there were small holes in the wall covered in grass too long to have been gathered in the nest, and dragons perched on the walls, watching over the animals grazing below.

This was far more than a nest, he realized. It was practically a dragon city. A far cry from the Red Death’s nest, which had been a prison.

 _Are other dragon nests like this?_  he wondered.  _What other things about them don’t we know?_

He was starting to get a better realization of what Valka must’ve been asking even before that dragon carried her away, what Hiccup had seen in them that drew him to Dragon’s Edge and beyond.

A soft bleat caught Stoick’s attention, and he turned to see a small lamb trotting up to him. Its eyes were crusty, and it was unsteady on its hooves.

Stoick knelt by the sheep. It was practically a hiccup, but from how sharp the bones on its face looked, it was ill, not young.

The sheep walked up to Stoick, laid down, and closed its eyes, becoming still.

 _Oh._  It was just an animal, and not one he’d known or bonded with, but beyond a numb shock, he felt a trace of sadness.

“Dad? What’s going–oh.” Hiccup had come up behind him, probably noticing his absence. He didn’t sound like he quite knew what to say regarding the sheep.

“It’s okay.” Val’s voice was heavy. “That one was sick since the dragons took it in. I’d been hoping the little guy would make it, but–” she trailed off and shook her head. “I didn’t know enough about sheep to have any idea how to cure it.” She shook her staff, and it rattled as she gestured an end at the sheep.

One of the dragons minding the farm flew down, grabbed it in its claws, and carried it down another tunnel, accessible only by flight, and disappeared.

“Where are they taking it?” Hiccup asked. His voice had lost the exuberance he’d had just moments ago, and Stoick hated it. The boy just reunited with his mother. He deserved to be happy.

“To the ocean, probably,” Valka said. “I don’t think the dragons would feel safe eating animals that died from sickness.”

Stoick nodded. The sheep could’ve been poisoned and left as bait for the dragons, for all anyone knew.

The group silently left the farm area, and onto the next stop of the tour: the caverns where she stayed. It was off the main chamber where the giant dragon slept. The place where she stayed was dug into a particularly thin area of the outer wall, judging by how you could see ice spikes and ocean through the hole on the other side.

Compared to the houses on Berk, this cavern was clean. It had a pile of furs dumped in a corner, and a few baskets and jars on the side of the walls, and a runoff of water that trickled out through the opening and away from anything that looked important, but besides that it had nothing. No weapons on the walls commemorating an ancestor, no papers, no furniture. No trinkets from faroff lands or from family.

Stoick’s heart ached. Valka could’ve had any choice of furniture, abandoned or otherwise, if she’d only just asked the dragons, but chose to live in an empty cave because she thought an idea of a Berk at peace with dragons was so unattainable?

Well, he thought, thanks to Hiccup Berk had changed for the better, and Valka would just have to see it.

But how?

Well, Valka was talking about making lunch, and Hiccup was volunteering to help. Gobber was staring at him behind their backs with a pleading face, probably remembering what she cooked like.

Well, no problems ever got fixed on an empty stomach, and it’d be rude to let his wife, son, and best friend do all the cooking. He’d figure out a way to ask her if she wanted to come back somehow.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is welcomed!


End file.
